Irregulars of Folklore: Scarlet's Lettering
by Typewriter King
Summary: A declaration of war, and a collection of letters.


Declaration Of War: Irregulars Of Folklore Taking Arms  
  
"I will not visit Constantine's quarter until the right to our deer returns to us. Jerusalem! How could I even dare take part in extending our chivalry into the orient, when our crown is so tainted at home? I have seen cold- blooded slaughter in our  
  
sanctuaries, and I have seen the feverish peasant, and until I am blinded of these affronts, I will continue my role as Will O' The Green!" We're early in the 1170s, in the years of the Lord Jesus, whom Henry spitefully blasphemes with his heartless killings. On this day I am dining in a little beer hall some of us have pieced together, and this was supposed to be a special day, for the traveling Man-Of-God, our good friend Tuck, is here in his robes, preparing to conduct a wedding ceremony. Instead, he brings more news of the like we've been eavesdropping lately. This time it's Hugh Fitztooth. To top things off, the Sheriff sent a messenger to recruit me for the Crusades- so I'll overlook his complicity in these affairs, I'm sure.  
  
"Go rot on the Earth, Ye lousy sod!" That's no way to talk to a representative of the crown, but news of Hugh left me in a torment. This Viking Meade rots my gut, too.  
  
"I can tighten the yew quicker 'en a dervish in a waterspout, 'en straighter 'en word o' thy Lord's prophets- sorry, friar." I cast the fiend divers fields clear of me tavern, and flushed scarlet.  
  
"I'll organize revolt, exact a death for a death, and I'll never rest until every Saxon in this shire can stand up free men and strike a blow for Richard and England. From this day forward, we are brigands, and my name is not William Scarlet, but the name-of-war, Will Of The Green, for the forests of Nottingham will be my home. Our enemies are professionals, and fight with the most efficient means, straight as an arrows shaft. They will ride the Rhodes with Arabian steeds, but our own Asymmetric robbery will meet our needs. We will take up our cunning Welsh arms, and cross that sham Henry and his arbalests!" On that day, we the merry men assembled a resistance our learned Tuck Christened 'Dragon Toxophilites,' but the name won't stick, I can sense it. In the coming tax season, we plan our first raid, and we will distribute the proceeds to our orphaned pal, Robert Fitztooth of Locksley.  
  
We pray our survival will bring us closer to Prince John, whom I've vowed to capture while he's hawking in the forest.  
  
This line is quoted from an Errol Flynn movie.  
  
Scarlet's Lettering: A Sampled Collection Of Will's Travels On Behalf Of His Rev  
  
October 19, 1179 A.D.  
  
On this date, I have slaughtered one of the King's deer, and have laid its entrails against a mighty oak in a clearing, awaiting another catch. I lie prostrate a distance away, bow held parallel above terra firma, with an arrow at the ready. I had hoped for a foraging boar, but when a carrion fowl surveyed my bait, patience faltered. My trade as a necromancer my work out, for my butchered snare yielded quite the bird. In the end, I decided to teach the others this strategy for meat, for it often turns up for quills for our arrows as well.  
  
Your brother in arms, Will Of The Green  
  
February 2, 1180 A.D.  
  
On this date I wrapped up negotiations with the Mohammedans in the Moorish territories, and have purchased a whole guild of learned men to translate the Four Gospels into Occitan. Your counsel is invaluable, Friar, and these heathens love it. As this letter reaches you, woodcuts are coming to shape, and I hope to send you a proof-of-concept with the Lord's Prayer imprinted by wood by next month. With any luck, we'll have the targeted 10,000 copies by next year, the date we agreed to destroy all evidence of this betrayal against the Lord's church. Should Robin of Locksley discover this betrayal, our cause will be hopelessly splintered.  
  
Your friend in crusade, Will Scarlet  
  
December 25, 1180 A.D.  
  
Do not worry, Brother, I'm far from unbeliever country on the Day of the Nativity. Our workshop is in flames, a suspicious four days after selling out to a moneylender. I'm going far north to find some mercenary raiders, but I promise to return to the Merry Men once I wrap up negotiations. Keep everyone in line, Tuck, because I have a whole string of raids planned out. You wrote a beautiful draft, friend, and I hope we'll obligate a King to it within a lifetime.  
  
P.S. Have the miller reserve a ream of ale kegs for me, and remind him that I paid off my tab the last time.  
  
Joyously yours, William O'Green  
  
January 15, 1181 A.D.  
  
I've won almost all the concessions I wanted from the Vikings, but the upstart chieftain is a hard bargain. I'm trying to appease them in song, but this needs revision:  
  
That he pondered after God-shine amid darkness,  
  
Fitfully, put out mallet-hits on accord, that thinking used to be.  
  
From a stream swimming is the hyperest man Thor, like "King Kong."  
  
As a stone stood Thor, no less, no more.  
  
So he voices mind outlining on all great want on a long curving blade,  
  
Say, the kind of the East?  
  
Wayland pleas with him, "Men? Maids? A warhorse in the stall?"  
  
Finish it shortly, and you'll have it all.  
  
Ember bathe with in a rave  
  
Ingots pave in a wave  
  
The fires crave  
  
And Smith can't save  
  
Wood for the winter  
  
Lightening overcast late December  
  
"Wayland, don't be downcast, you remember,  
  
I'll reward you, and fill your cinder."  
  
"My Lord, I have reason to sigh and clamor,  
  
only this season did tool the hammer!"  
  
"Easy, Smith, you're no lummox,  
  
Your mighty hammer hungers my stomachs!"  
  
The Warlord named Bjorn loves it, but I think our potential allies in Limerick may enjoy it, with a little revision or deletion of the first few lines. I'm not sure I understand them either, or maybe I've been around these gentlemen to long.  
  
I don't know what impressed them more, my poetry, or my ancestral claim to the Queen Boodica. Yeah. Anyway, they'll sneak across the Thames on the next new moon, so have the men ready on that date. London's calling, and the river will be Thor's Anvil!  
  
Your Comrade, Will Green  
  
Merry Men As We Know Them: The Sheriff's Letters  
  
Your Majesty, Prince John,  
  
March first in the year 1181 AD, a prankster added a devilish sum of leavening agents to a Noble's oven. Dough flooded to the steps of the church, and this being a Sunday, impeded the Lord's work. The perp left a winded parable about manna feeding lost tribes, and proclaimed himself the Prince-Of-Thieves. He signed his name as Robin Hood.  
  
Your Servant, The Sheriff of Nottingham  
  
Your Majesty, Prince John,  
  
On March 15, the villain Robin Hood staged a massive trapping of a flock of birds, by wasting countless seed atop a goatskin sack that worked as a snare. He knocked a staff against all the commoner shacks, and quickly spoke of his catch. The masses eagerly confirmed his boasting.  
  
Your Servant, The Sheriff of Nottingham 


End file.
